


Both Ways is the Only Way I Want It

by Siria



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: M/M, Underwear Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-23
Updated: 2018-11-23
Packaged: 2019-08-28 09:07:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16720434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Siria/pseuds/Siria
Summary: If Shane wanted to wear panties, Ryan was there to support his underwear choices, not to judge them. That was what friends were for, right?





	Both Ways is the Only Way I Want It

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to trinityofone for patient betaing!

The first time Ryan spotted them, he honestly didn't think anything of it. A bunch of people were over at Shane's for a board game night that had somehow devolved into playing a game that was a drunken cross between Never Have I Ever and Monopoly. Kelsey got a bit too excited over snatching up Park Place, waved her arms around and launched her glass of red wine right at the middle of Ryan's white t-shirt. 

"Okay, Kelsey, and we're switching to water now because we're making good choices, _great_ choices, thank you," Shane told her, smoothly swapping her empty wineglass for a tumbler of water, then more quietly, "Ryan, you can borrow a t-shirt of mine if you like."

Since Ryan wanted neither to spend the rest of the evening smelling like a fruity Zinfandel nor to spark off a round of drunken Strip Never Have I Ever Monopoly, he accepted Shane's offer. He padded down the hallway to Shane's bedroom and let himself in with an apology to an unimpressed-looking Obi the cat, who'd been snoozing at the foot of Shane's bed. 

"Sorry," Ryan said, "sorry, kitty, I know this is your domain, just a bit of a fashion emergency." He walked over to the dresser and pulled open the top drawer to find not t-shirts but some stacks of neatly folded underwear: mostly your standard monotone boxer briefs, but also some much more colourful ones. Panties with floral prints and bows on them, panties that were trimmed with ruffles and lace, panties that had straps attached to them that had no purpose Ryan could think of other than _sex things_.

"Whoops!" Ryan hastily closed the drawer on what was obviously the one visible remnant of Shane's last relationship, pulled open the next one, and seized gratefully on the first BFU shirt he saw. By the time he got back to the game—which had turned musical in his absence—Ryan had pretty much blocked out the contents of the first drawer. None of his business. 

And that would have been that, except for today: walking into one of the copy-room slash office-supplies storage spaces at work to find Shane on his tip-toes straining for a box of staples on the very top shelf. 

Ryan was about to say, "Would it damage your tall person cred to stand on a chair like the rest of us?" when he noticed that Shane's t-shirt had ridden up just enough to reveal a stretch of bare back and a strip of fabric peeking out over the waistband of his chinos. Only that strip of lace-trimmed fabric showed that Shane wasn't wearing something that had come from a Hanes six pack. He was wearing panties. 

Ryan felt, quite clearly, one whole part of his brain seize up. He made an executive decision that the copying could wait for a bit, did an about-face, and hurried back to his desk. 

*****

Look: Ryan was a modern guy. It was 2018. He lived in California, and not the Orange County version of California either. He got that there were all sorts of different gender expressions and identities _and_ he was fine with that. If Shane wanted to wear panties, Ryan was there to support his underwear choices, not to judge them. That was what friends were for, right?

It was just that Ryan had looked at half a whole drawer's worth of lacy, silky underthings and never thought they could be Shane's at all. He had assumed they were a lady's left-behind lacy, silky underthings, and everyone knew what assuming did to a person. Did that make Ryan a bad person—an unsupportive friend—close-minded? Had he unfairly put Shane in a category in his head marked "Regular guy, slightly weird, unreasonably tall" when he should have been in "Regular guy, slightly weird, unreasonably tall, makes unorthodox yet valid underwear purchases" instead?

Ryan shook his head. "Bergara, this is not what being buddies looks like," he told his reflection in his computer monitor. 

When Shane finally sat back down next to him—box of staples in one hand and a fresh mug of tea in the other—Ryan felt emboldened, even righteous. This needed to be said. He swivelled around to face Shane and planted his hands on his thighs. "I support you in all of your life choices, no matter what."

Shane blinked at him, mug frozen halfway to his mouth. "I… it's just we're out of Earl Grey so I made some Oolong instead. Do… you not like Oolong, buddy?"

"Once you're making safe and consensual choices that empower you," Ryan said, calling on everything he remembered from every Oprah special he'd ever seen bits of, "you should feel free to follow your bliss. I see you and I support you."

"Well," Shane said slowly. "Okay."

"Good. Great," Ryan said nodding. "Glad we had this talk."

*****

And _that_ would have been that, except for now Ryan started to notice the fact that Shane never seemed to wear anything other than boxer briefs when they were doing a shoot. It wasn't that they were regularly dropping trou on set—they weren't the Try Guys or anything—but they shared hotel rooms more often than not. If Shane had been carrying around… you know… Ryan would have known, even if only because he caught a glimpse of a bit of colour in the depths of Shane's suitcase. 

No matter how often Ryan 's gaze strayed over to Shane's waistband, there was never a hint of anything other than Target-standard male underwear, which made Ryan worry a bit. Was Shane ashamed? Did he fear that Ryan or T.J. or Mark would find out and mock him? 

Shame wasn't really an emotion that Ryan associated with Shane Madej. After all, his standard response to anyone who tried to be a dick to him about the cheerleader outfit from the Crossfit video was a one-shouldered shrug and a bored, "I felt pretty." But what if this was something that… that _mattered_ to Shane, that was a big part of who he was and he was worried that his friends would reject him if they found out?

"Oh my god, have I been an asshole?" Ryan said, voice rising in pitch. No one answered, because he was alone in his car, stuck in a particularly hellacious traffic jam on the 405—which was either the worst place in the world to have an epiphany, or exactly the kind of place you had to be in order to realise something this important. 

Maybe he'd been an asshole, but what could he do to fix that, exactly? If this was like, shit, Ryan didn't know… if this was Shane being squirrelly about being weirdly fond of spaghettios, Ryan could just show up at his door with a dozen cans of the stuff, and boom! Problem solved, friendship righted. But a guy couldn't just show up at a co-worker's door out of the blue with a gift box full of lacy underthings and say "You should feel comfortable wearing these, if you want to." That was the kind of shit that got HR involved in a "clean out your desk by the end of the day" way.

He could ask Eugene, Ryan thought as his car inched slowly forward and then stopped, cut off by an opportunistic asshole trying to change lanes in an obnoxiously large SUV. Eugene knew all sorts of stuff about clothes and how they worked and what they meant and gender and shit. If there was anyone in Ryan's circle of friends and acquaintances who'd know how to navigate this situation in a mature way, it was Eugene. 

(Of course, he and Eugene were still sort of… mutually maintaining a slightly awkward distance after that one group night out where Ryan had gotten slightly hammered and asked Eugene what it meant if Ryan thought he was curious about being bicurious, because you know, when you thought about it: _guys_. Right?)

Maybe not Eugene.

"This is on you, Bergara," Ryan said, adjusting his hands on the wheel. "You've got to figure this out yourself. You know, if you don't get arrested for road rage first. Holy shit, Chevy dude, would you just _move_?"

*****

Five days later, Ryan had to admit to himself that he had no plan. A plan was not forthcoming. He'd tried his best to think of one: wracked his brains, sought the wisdom of the internet, even considered going to see a clairvoyant. All for nothing. His Google search history was shot to hell, even for someone who spent a good chunk of his time researching demons and serial killers. He'd read things on Yahoo Answers that were the text versions of Lovecraftian horrors. No one out there seemed to have actually helpful things to say on the subject of what to do when you find out that your BFF likes to mix it up in the ole underoos department. 

He could just say something, Ryan supposed on Saturday morning while throwing a pile of his own underwear into the washing machine. It wasn't like whoever was writing the cosmic script for the past few years seemed to be big on subtlety, so Ryan would just be going with the flow in a sense. Why not just turn to Shane during a quiet moment at work and say, "I'm down with you wearing panties, big guy."

Ryan could do that. It would be efficient. It would be decisive. There was nothing to stop him. Nothing, he realised, as he closed the washer lid and set the cycle to start, except for the little voice in his ear that sounded an awful lot like Shane—the one that asked him why it was so important to him that Shane know that Ryan knew what Shane liked. 

"Ugh," Ryan said with feeling, and kicked at the washer. "Ow." Stupid Never Have I Ever Monopoly. This was all its fault. 

*****

Fine. So he wanted Shane to know that he knew what Shane was into. But that didn't have to be—Ryan didn't have to make it _weird_ , or at least he didn't have to make it weird in a way that was out of character for a guy who'd earned his pay cheque last week halfway up a tree in Tennessee trying to find evidence for the existence of a half-owl, half-woman cryptid who was accused of eating several small local dogs.

("You think she can swivel her head all the way around like a regular owl?" Shane had asked as they'd crunched their way through the leaf-strewn woods. "Because that'd be neat. That'd be a _hoot_.")

He didn't have to make it weird, which was why within fifteen minutes of arriving at Shane's place that evening for a '50s B-Movie marathon, Ryan made it very, very weird. 

Shane crouched down in front of the TV to fiddle with one of the speakers which was acting up. This meant that Ryan, who was setting the bowls of popcorn down on the coffee-table, had an excellent view of the fact that Shane's chinos gaped at the back just enough to show that he was wearing a pair of pink, lacy panties. 

"Is it like T.J.'s thing about how he doesn't like pooping anywhere but his own toilet?" 

Shane's head swivelled around just like the Owl Woman of Gatlinburg. "Seeing as my question was whether you wanted to start with _Attack of the Crab Monsters_ or _Night of the Blood Beast_ , buddy, you're going to have to back that one right up."

"Nothing," Ryan said. "Forget I—"

"Ryan." Shane stood up but Ryan found he couldn't drag his gaze away from the general area of Shane's crotch. _Pink!_ his brain reminded him helpfully. _Lace!_

"Okay, so, uh." Through sheer effort of will, Ryan made himself blink and look elsewhere, fixating on a patch of skirting board in the far corner which seemed nice and non-threatening. "Just… you've been wearing underwear of the feminine variety? Not to… shit, that came out wrong. It is _your underwear_ , it is Shane's underwear, if you're wearing it then it's automatically a guy's underwear, just it's not what some people would… Um. But I also noticed that you don't do that when we're travelling for work, only when we're in L.A., so that was… that's what I was wondering."

"You were wondering about my underwear choices."

Ryan risked a glance over at Shane. He hadn't moved, in fact was holding himself very still, and his face was so perfectly, eerily blank that Ryan could almost imagine they were doing a bit. Almost. 

"Yes? I mean, not in a—not in a _bad_ way, dude!" Ryan could feel his cheeks heat. Shane wouldn't stop looking at him. "I just, I noticed that you were wearing them, and then that you weren't, and I was worried that maybe you thought I'd be, I'd be judgemental or a dick or something about it and… and I'm not. That. And you should be happy and get to do the things that make you happy and I, uh, I wanted you to know that. So."

Shane was quiet for a long moment, then said, carefully, "I like to pack light, and most of them are hand-wash only. Plus they don't hold up so well to the whole running, jumping, climbing trees part of an investigation."

"Oh," Ryan said. "Okay." Even the tips of his ears felt hot. 

"It's not a—"

"No, no, you don't have to explain—"

"But it's—"

"It's fine."

There was a pause. Ryan didn't think he'd felt this awkward since the week his voice decided to break coincided with the annual school play. "So, uh, you want to start with _Attack of the Crab Monsters_?" he said, right at the same time Shane said, "What do you actually want to ask?"

"What?"

Shane stuck his hands in his pocket, cocked his head to one side. "You've been thinking about this a lot."

"Not a _lot_ ," Ryan protested, very aware of just how often he'd been told that he was very bad at lying. "Just… some."

"You want to know what I'm wearing," Shane said. His voice was so very soft, and Ryan felt pinned, unable to move. "And when."

"I'm… I don't…"

"Ryan. What do you actually want to ask me?"

Ryan let out a breath. "Why?"

Shane picked up the remote, switched off the TV, then turned and held out a hand. "Come on."

Ryan blinked. "What?"

Shane said nothing, and eventually Ryan reached out and took Shane's hand in his, let Shane steer them both down the short hallway towards Shane's bedroom. It wasn't like their hands had never touched before—a helping hand was useful when you were trying to stand up and you'd had a little too much to drink. But this was different, this had like a whole different kind of intent behind it, and Ryan was scared but he wasn't going to pull away. 

He wanted to know what Shane's answer would be. 

Shane pointed at the bed and said, "Sit."

Ryan sat down gingerly, feeling awkward—a feeling that didn't exactly fade when Shane started to take off his clothes. There wasn't anything seductive in it. Shane didn't hurry it up, he didn't take it slow, he didn't seem like he was arching his body in any particular way to drawn Ryan's eye. He just untied his laces, took his sneakers off and set them next to the door; tugged off t-shirt and socks and tossed them into the laundry hamper. Chinos last, folded and set on the low bench at the foot of the bed, and then Shane turned and faced Ryan. 

"It's not a sex thing," Shane said, then hitched a shoulder. "Or, mostly not. It's not a fetish. I don't want to be anyone other than Shane. Just… sometimes this is what makes me feel most like myself."

Shane's panties were the kind that Ryan always thought of, vaguely, as "olde timey": cut higher across his belly, curving over his hips to make it look like he had more of a waist than he really did. They were made of pink silk, except for panels of black lace over each hip. The silk pulled a little over, over—that was Shane's cock, right there, and he was letting Ryan see all of this. 

"Is it a…" Shane's eyes were averted, his shoulders rounded and slumped even more than usual and oh, this wasn't what Ryan wanted this to be at all. He didn't want Shane to feel like this was Ryan making him justify himself. "I believe you! I do, I bet you've had a lot of time to think this through, and it's you, you know you better than I do."

"I guess," Shane said quietly. "I… I figured it out in college. It was supposed to just be a dumb bit in a sketch show a group of us put on. Everyone else threw theirs away right after, but I couldn't make myself. And then, you know, the wonders of online shopping, so I bought some more and they just felt… right."

If this was anyone else, Ryan thought, this was the point where his curiosity would be fully satisfied. He knew all the key facts now—the when, and the why, and even the purchasing method—and this was when they should give one another the "Good talk, bro" nod, go back out to the sitting room, and un-ironically enjoy some cheesy movies from the 1950s. 

The thing was, though, that Ryan kept wanting to say "but", and the "but" felt significant, and the "but" was maybe linked to the fact that Ryan was looking at a man who was objectively speaking a pale, silk-wrapped string bean and finding him attractive. Like, attractive in an "I think I want to touch him" way, not attractive in a hypothetical, vague, "Yeah, I can see why someone would want to tap that" kind of way. He swallowed hard. 

"You said it's mostly not a sex thing," Ryan said. He tried his best to look at Shane's face as he spoke—not at his chest or his legs or his crotch—because that just seemed polite, but it was harder to do that than it probably should have been for someone who was only bicurious. He owed Eugene some kind of apology. "But it's a little bit a sex thing?"

"Yeah," Shane said. His hands, clenched into fists at his sides, were shaking a little. 

"What if…" Ryan took a deep breath, and summoned every ounce of courage he had. "What if someone else looks at you like this and, and they're realising that for them maybe this _is_ a sex thing?"

Shane's voice was tight. "It's not fair to tease me with what I've been wanting just because—"

Ryan shook his head, frantic, because he wasn't teasing and holy shit, Shane had been _what?_ "No, no teasing! Would—could you show me the difference between the not-sex and the sex? Because I think maybe I'm interested in the, uh, the second one. With you." 

Maybe there was a smoother way Ryan could have phrased that, and Shane's answering nod was a jerky, puppet thing, but he crossed the room without hesitation. He rearranged Ryan so that his legs were stretched wide and Shane could settle between them, his back against Ryan's chest and Ryan's thighs bracketing Shane's hips. Ryan could feel the warmth of Shane's body through the thin fabric of his own t-shirt, feel the hitch and expansion of his chest as he breathed. He swallowed. 

"Are you sure about this?" Shane asked. Ryan couldn't see his face, but even someone who knew Shane far less well would have been able to pick up on the tension in his voice. "If you—"

"I am." Carefully, like he was soothing a spooked horse, Ryan placed one hand against Shane's side, splaying his fingers wide. Maybe he hadn't realised he was into this—into Shane—until just a few moments ago, but that fact seemed far less important than how Shane's body felt against his now, or the way the blood seemed to be fizzing in Ryan's veins. And even they seemed less important than how hindsight was turning things that hadn't seemed important at the time into things that were significant. Why else would Ryan have spent so much time looking at Shane, if he hadn't wanted this all along? "I want you to show me. I want to see _you_."

Another jerky nod, and Shane was slouching down, going louche and boneless so that his head was resting against Ryan's shoulder, his legs splayed out over Ryan's own, and Ryan was able to see it all in the long, narrow mirror hung on the door of Shane's closet. 

"I like this part of it," Shane said, his voice soft in Ryan's ear. "This was the first part I liked. Just seeing the contrasts." Ryan could see the appeal, too: the pink silk and the black lace against all that pale skin, how delicate they were and how they did nothing to disguise the fact that Shane was a guy. Shane was right: they did make him seem more like him. Ryan watched as his fingers twitched, digging into the soft skin of Shane's side. 

"I like them on you, too," Ryan said. "It's… I wasn't expecting it. Them. The first time I saw them."

"Well, who would?" Shane said affably. "That's another thing I like about 'em. A little bit of hidden drama in the pants region, but the good kind, you know?"

"Pretty good," Ryan said, trying to ignore how breathless he sounded when Shane shifted against him, showing more inner thigh and rubbing up against Ryan's crotch all at once. "So that's, um, that's two things. Contrast and drama. Are there more or—"

"Oh yeah," Shane said, and Ryan could feel himself starting to get hard. "They feel nice. Supportive. Silk or satin or there's even this really nice soft cotton they never make mens' underwear out of, which is very discriminatory, _I_ feel. Not a fan of that. Lace, though, I'm a fan of that. Big fan."

Ryan watched as Shane ran the fingertips of one hand over the lace trim at his belly and down along his hip. "You can feel it all day long, how it's a little scratchy but not so much that it's annoying, just enough you're aware of it. Like, ha, like ASMR but you're feeling it, not hearing it. And then"—Shane moved again, canting his hips upwards—"it's just snug enough that when you come home and take them off, you can see the imprint of the lace and the seams on your skin for a few minutes. And that's—"

"Oh Jesus," Ryan said. 

"I like that, like touching those marks." Shane's voice was lower now, sparking a sandpaper-rasp that ran the length of Ryan's spine. Ryan was fully hard now, and he didn't know what he was getting off on more: imagining Shane pressing his fingers against those marks on his skin, or watching in the mirror as Shane's cock stiffened beneath that pretty pink silk. 

"But sometimes," Shane continued, "I leave them on."

Ryan's palms itched with the desire to touch. He slid his hands down to close around Shane's hips, bracketing them. In the mirror, it looked like his reflected self was holding Shane out: offering him up. "Like now."

"Like now," Shane confirmed. "Maybe normally not _quite_ like this, most evenings I just—"

"You are so hot," Ryan told him fervently, blurted it out because he couldn't keep it to himself anymore. He tightened his grip, feeling slippery silk and scratchy lace and hot skin beneath his hands. "So fucking hot when you're wearing these. _Shane_."

Shane shuddered, eyes drifting half-closed, and Ryan watched, fascinated, as the fabric of Shane's panties darkened where the head of his cock was pressed against it. 

"I know it's not… I know that's not the only reason you wear them," Ryan said, letting his thumbs rub slow circles against silk and the jut of Shane's hipbones. "But as side-effects go, this is a pretty fucking awesome one, and I just want you to know that I, I am one hundred per cent on board."

"Yeah, well, I think you've made that, uh, abundantly clear," Shane said. "As a team-building exercise, this is maybe a little niche but I'm okay with it if you—"

"I want to see you touch yourself," Ryan said, and hey, okay, it sounded like his brain had just decided to completely forget the existence of a filter between it and his mouth, but maybe that wasn't such a bad thing because Shane actually did that. He did it. Ryan told him to touch himself and Shane wrapped his hand around his cock and gave it a long, slow pull and there was a flush spreading across his chest that said he _liked_ doing it. Ryan moaned. 

"Like this?" Shane asked. 

"Fucking hell, you can't just _do_ that!"

Shane lifted his head a little, mouth rounded in outrage. "You told me to do it! Mixed signals, dude."

"But like, some warning would be nice, you can't just—oh Christ."

Shane did it again: rubbed his thumb against the wet spot on his panties, stroked himself, and the line of his cock through the thin silk was so big. What would it be like to touch it, to hold it? Would… would Shane let him do things, other things? Would Shane want Ryan on his knees, mouth full of spit-wet silk and cock? Ryan didn't think he'd ever wanted something in quite this way: first the squirming sensation of shame and then the release of being shameless about it. The feeling pooled low and potent in his belly, and he was so hard he ached with it. 

"You've got, you've got to warn a guy," he said, grinding himself up against Shane's ass: a moment's relief that just made things worse. "Fuck. You're going to make me come in my pants."

"So?" Shane said, breathless. "That's what I'm planning on doing."

"You are?" Ryan said, stupidly, but in his defence, Shane was making these _noises_ and you couldn't expect Ryan to think properly when Shane was moaning and shaking against him like that. You couldn't expect him to concentrate on anything else other than the sight of Shane sticking one hand inside his panties and starting to work his cock with fast, tight strokes. Ryan couldn't tear his gaze away from the sight of Shane's reflection as he came: chest heaving, throat working, his cock fucking into one hand while the other fumbled to clutch at Ryan's own. He was so caught up in it that his own orgasm was a surprise, nothing he could brace for. He found himself curling forward, pressing his sweaty forehead against Shane's shoulder and, when that still wasn't enough to ground him through the aftershocks, biting at the skin there and relishing the taste of salt on his tongue. 

"Ha, well, mission achieved," Ryan said when he could speak again. His pants were already uncomfortable, his t-shirt damp with sweat. He should move, they should… something. Ryan flexed his fingers, trying to make himself pry them from Shane's hips. He couldn't. He made himself look up at the mirror instead to see how it reflected back the two of them: wide-eyed and shaken, Shane's hair a mess and his panties ruined.

"Truth in advertising," Shane agreed. He was a heavy, sated weight against Ryan and showed no sign of wanting to move either, which satisfied some greedy little part of Ryan that was crowing _mine, mine, mine_.

There was a long stretch of time where they just breathed together and Ryan watched them do that, and then he could feel the moment when Shane's brain came back online and did something really stupid. "Anyway, that's me and my underwear preferences, thanks for asking, the popcorn's probably cold by now but I've got lots more, it's fine, you said you wanted to start with _Attack of the Crab Monsters_ , right, so—"

Shane tried to get up mid-babble, but Ryan tightened his grip on Shane's hips. Shane flailed a little, tried to get one leg on the floor, and Ryan used his momentum against him, flipping him over so that Shane was half on top of Ryan, half splayed across the mattress. They went very still against one another.

" _Attack of the Crab Monsters_ ," Shane said. 

"Uh huh," Ryan said, because he wasn't feeling any more verbal right now. Shane was so close to him, and Ryan wrapped his arms around him and pulled him closer. "Gonna try something else."

"But if—"

Ryan kissed him. It was maybe a bit weird, to kiss someone for the first time only after you'd orgasmed in one another's company, but what was weirder was that _that_ was the weirdest thing about it. Ryan had never kissed someone with stubble before, never kissed someone whose groans were as deep as Ryan's own, whose hands on Ryan's face, his shoulders, were large and strong and insistent. It was brand new and it was fantastic and Ryan couldn't stop smiling. 

"You know what's great about this?" Ryan said when the kiss finally ended. 

"Um," Shane said. He was staring at Ryan's mouth. 

"What's great is that there's nothing about this I don't like. I liked the kissing, I like your ass in those panties, I like your face kind of a lot." Shane was watching him closely now, wary and cornered, as if he couldn't quite believe that not only was Ryan not going to treat this like a one and done, he was actually going to talk about it. Which, ha, more fool him: there was going to be a time when Shane looked back and wondered how he could have ever thought that Ryan didn't talk a lot after an orgasm. "Sidebar I'm going to need to borrow some sweatpants from you before I go home, but I hope you're going to take these jeans off me first because shit, dude, you could do a lot to me and I think I'd fucking love it."

"Oh, I could, could I?" The wary look wasn't entirely gone from Shane's eyes, but he was smiling again: tentative and soft but with a hint of mischief to it that made Ryan think it was real. 

"You could!" Ryan had been grinning so hard his cheeks hurt from it, but now put on an appropriately solemn expression as he switched to the Theory Voice. "But for now—"

"Don't you fucking dare," Shane said. 

"—the case of whether Ryan Bergara is into Shane Madej like _that_ is…. solved."

"You are… no. No. I object." Shane shook his head vigorously. 

"Too bad, so sad, no take backs."

"I am not a theory to be made subject to your whims, sir, to your flights of fancy!"

"Are too!" Ryan said in his smuggest voice. "I'm putting on my metaphorical detective hat and saying case closed and what is that I hear? Is that a _Law and Order_ -style, episode-over chung-CHUNG? It is!"

"You're really lucky you're cute, Bergara," Shane said, eyes narrowed. "Otherwise this whole thing you've got going for you would be pretty insufferable."

"A whole thing, huh, what's—" But then Shane was kissing him again, hot and eager, and Ryan was cupping Shane's ass through the panties, and Shane was tugging Ryan's shirt up, up, and off, and yeah, Ryan thought, yeah, he had at least one very good thing going for him.


End file.
